(This story follows a certain letter from an unhappy customer, which can be found here: http://fortyfifthparadox.com/?p=149
The journey began easily enough. It didn't end so easily. I drove from my home to the airport, parked my car, and headed to the terminal. As I sat in my chair, my cushy-yet-still-uncomfortable chair, I saw the worst happen. Just outside the windows the world had gone white. Not that it had ceased to exist or anything, but that a blizzard had fell upon the airport. My head jerked towards the flight status sign, seeing city after green city turn red. Time slowed as the the light changed on my destination, and the word seemed stuck at an angle, halfway between delayed and canceled. I swallowed deeply.
Canceled.
Without thinking, I ran back out of the airport to my car. More white barred my way to the parking garage, along with freshly unrolled caution tape. My pulse quickened its pace faster than a plane down a clean runway. I punched numbers on my cell phone, only to find the signal dead. And all I wanted to do was pick up my computer. It sounded a bit more sane at the time, but I wondered if the manufacturer had caused the storm....
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